The Clockwork Mansion

The city was small enough so that it didn't appear in any major news stories. Crime was relatively common, whether it was committed by simple hoodlums or groomed professionals. Most importantly, its residents were wrapped up in their daily lives just enough so that no-one cared to enter the little concrete building, just below ground-level. Even if someone did notice it, the sign stating "Black Sky Nighttime Cleaning Service" in ornate white letters on a starry black background convinced them that going in during the day was pointless. And no-one ever came at night, either.

It was so perfect that the building's new owner, standing inside the lobby, almost felt like laughing. He settled for a contented, amused purr.

The man in question, a blond feline with rather long hair and slightly strange attire, examined his surroundings, his eyes shifting beneath his dark glasses. The lobby was a little bare, with beige paint on the walls, marble tile on the floor, a potted plant in the corner, a simple black doormat, and a few cleaning products on shelves in the back in case someone took the sign seriously. The only thing of any real importance to the cat was the desk in the middle of the room. It was a basic black office desk, with a swivel chair for him and two basic desk chairs with seat cushions for his expected visitors. In the desk drawers were his plans, a few financial papers, and a laptop containing carefully hidden and protected data on the real purpose of the building.

Oh, he was running a cleaning service. But the mess he was cleaning was a social stain, not a physical one.

He, Khimara Transphermi, was finally going to taste success. No more of his father's connections to help him; from now on, his deeds would be the ones whispered about over dinner tables in fear and reverence.

He sat himself down in the swivel chair, fanning his own tail and the ones on his coat out behind him. The first of his soon-to-be employees would be arriving any minute. Brushing his hair back away from his face, he grinned toothily.

"Well, then. Time to take out the trash."

Never had such a hackneyed line been spoken with such utter satisfaction.

What could only be described as a shadow stood in front of the Black Sky Nighttime Cleaning Service.  The front door wasn't locked.  And Shade never trusted unlocked doors that he didn't unlock himself.  But the news from one of his old partners told him that perhaps this was worth checking out.  If nothing else, he might be bale to snag... what, someone's prized dustmop?  Assassin's were a notoriously untrustworthy bunch, but the particular one that had given him this lead on regular work seemed, well, genuine... for once.  He quietly turned the knob and opened the door just a crack.  It was dark inside.  He slipped in and silently closed the door behind him.  Following the main hallway he eventually made his way to a door with light coming out from under it.  He put his ear to the door.
"Well, then.  Time to take out the trash." A voice on the other side of the door said.
This door too was unlocked.  Something about this situation made Shade want to leave this whole thing behind.  But the promise of regular work... and regular pay kept him there.  He set his jaw, and as quietly as could be, opened the door and silently stepped in, and then closed the door behind him silently.  To his dismay though, the person behind the desk noticed him.  But he stepped forward.  If this wasn't what his ex-partner had told him, then this man was dead.  Shade cleared his throat.
"I hear you're looking for... cleaners." He says.
His voice was baritone, but slightly cracking.
"Perhaps you've heard of me.  I'm known as Shade, the Ghost Thief." He says.
He watched the other man's reaction.  If it was anything other than an assassination job offer, or an allusion to that effect, he would have to kill this man.  And Shade did not like to do unnecessary killing.

Amazingly enough, mere minutes after Khimara sat down, someone entered the room. He didn't hear any footsteps; hell, he didn't even hear the door creak. But after a moment, it became apparent he wasn't alone in the room. The man standing in front of him would have been completely invisible had the lights not been turned on. His night-black fur barely visible against his black clothing, for a second the blond was almost convinced that a shadow had grown eyes and a tail and walked in. The possibility that he'd heard Khimara talking to himself was a little embarrassing, but it was barely on his mind for the moment.

Someone that quiet who can blend into the night without even trying... this is almost too good to be true already. Now to see if he's the right type of person.

Once the man said his name, Khimara smiled affably and stood up. "You heard right. Can't say I've ever heard of you, but you've probably never heard of me either. My name's Khimara Transphermi." He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Sit down, please."

Shade studied the man for a moment.  He still didn't have enough information to decide whether or not this man was genuine.
"If you don't mind, I'll remain standing." He says.
His eyes darted around behind the sunglasses, finding shadowed spots, just in case he had to disappear.  After just a moment he fixed his gaze on Khimara.
"You must not be from around here, if you've never heard of the Ghost Thief.  But regardless, I've heard from certain underground sources that you're looking for people of... particular skills." He says.
As he makes that comment, he moves one hand to the handle of his dagger, and the other hand to the handle of his blackjack.

Khimara didn't miss the movement of Shade's hands to his sides. His smile changed just a little, becoming almost coldly reassured. He was, of course, wary about being threatened; pure instinct prevented his being totally calm. But he wouldn't have expected someone to trust a person who sent anonymous letters asking for professional hitmen. Had he himself received the letter, he wouldn't trust it either. The fact that the other feline hadn't reacted to his father's name also was a good sign. It meant he really was on his own for once.

"If you really need to hear me say it, that's fine. I wouldn't have it any other way," he replied, shifting his legs so he'd be able to jump out of the way quickly if need be, and almost subconsciously making a list of species he could turn into if he had to escape. His voice tone dropped to a quiet, serious level, though he was 95% sure that no-one was listening in anyway. Even so, he chose his words carefully, getting his meaning across without saying anything blatant.

"I'm sure you know as well as I do that there are people in this world who want certain ... messes ... to disappear. It's a perfectly natural desire, but the rest of the world doesn't seem to agree. I need skilled individuals who are willing to provide those people the service they so desperately want ... without leaving any stains behind. I'm ready to pay you a large portion of whatever money those people offer. Now, before I tell you the rest, I'd like to know that no-one - including yourself - is about to silence me for saying even that much."

Shade only ever so slightly relaxed, and moved his hands away from his weapons.  This man appeared to be indeed genuine.  But he made a mental note to look this guy up, see who he was really affiliated with.  Usually when it seems to good to be true, it is.  And in this case, Shade intended to move carefully.  On the surface this all looked genuine, but he knew too many assassins to know that he could very well have already sprung a trap.
"Sounds like an interesting proposition.  I assume you've sent out invites to other people.  I didn't get an invite, but an acquaintance of mine did.  He wasn't interested, but he suggested I check it out, since work has been slow." He says. "And I was only going to silence you if this turned out to be anything other than what you say it is.  Since you appear genuine, I have no reason to kill you."
Yet.

Khimara, likewise, relaxed the smallest bit, shifting his legs to a more comfortable standing position but keeping his muscles tense as coiled springs. "Good to hear. It's a shame that one invite was turned down, but you seem more than capable enough for the work I need done." He moved so he was standing behind his swivel chair, placing his hands on the back of it. Contrary to appearances, this wasn't a move to protect himself; it just kept him comfortable enough so that he didn't need to sit down.

"So, with a name like 'ghost thief', it doesn't sound like you started out in this business. What made you change your mind, if you don't mind my asking?" This wasn't small talk. Khimara liked knowing the motives of anyone who worked with him. It helped him decide whether they were really the type of people who should work together or not. As a well-near newcomer to this profession, he needed to be as compatible with his coworkers as possible. Otherwise, getting caught might become a real threat instead of just a worry...

This was the typical part.  The client always wants to know why he does this.
"You're right about that.  My professional career as a thief was going well, until I started getting requests to take lives instead of valuable objects.  And as it turns out, the clients that ask for assassinations pay better than my fences.  I'm in it for the money.  And who's to mind if the victim's valuables go missing as well?" He says. 
Greed, it's the perfect motivation.
"I apply my skills as a thief to my assassination contracts.  I only kill the target, and no one else.  Anyone who gets in the way just gets knocked out.  To date, I've never failed.  And I'm sure your next question would be about how well I work in groups.  When I do have to work with others, I usually serve as a scout, since I can get in and out unseen." He says.

Khimara nodded as he listened carefully, his face serious now. He didn't quite want to sit down, just in case someone else came in. Maybe leaving the door open was a bad idea after all, he thought passingly. In the meantime, Shade's credentials were more important than an unwanted guest - considering who they were, that kind of problem could be taken care of easily. Rather than sitting down to write them, he simply committed them to memory so he could write them later.

"Sounds pretty impressive," the cat said once Shade finished speaking. "It might be wise to keep thieving tendencies to a minimum, though I'm sure you could have guessed that. As I mentioned, my concern is whether or not you or anyone else who applies here gets caught." He smirked just a little. "Though from what you've told me and what I've seen, that won't be a problem."

His smirk faded again. This was the part that typically involved the most haggling in any job - pay rates and work hours. "Before we go any further, it's fair that you know that your work here may not be regular. If I'm correct about the desires of most people, there will be plenty of clients, but I'm hoping to assign no more than one cleaner at a time; I'm sure you understand why. Unless a job is particularly big, of course. Then there's the matter of money... Being only an organizer, I don't intend to take much of what clients offer, but percentage-wise, how much would you expect with each assignment?"

Shade considered Khimara's question for a moment.
"It doesn't matter if it's not regular work.  I can keep myself quite busy.  Working alone is not a problem.  Working with a group is no problem either.  I do my all of my work at night, when chances of getting caught are... slimmer." He says.  "As for the pay, I'll take as much as I can get.  You take your share, and I'll take mine.  And if I end up with a group, I have no problem splitting a take evenly."
That was a lie.  But a necessary one.  Working in a group is always done best when you don't take the lion's share of pay.  And besides that, it was simple professional courtesy.

Inwardly, Khimara relaxed a little. Even if it was bothersome for most people, Shade wasn't going to cause trouble over money and work. That made this a little easier. But for now, he was running short on time, and he'd learned almost everything he needed to know about this man.

"Hm. Well, you seem quite capable, and I have no reason to doubt that you'll be valuable here..." He paused. He clearly wouldn't be able to ask about family history, and it would be pure foolishness to ask for prior contacts. People in their business tended to keep to themselves unless absolutely necessary. Still, he did need a little extra reassurance... and he knew just how to test Shade's abilities and trustworthiness.

"I'd like to keep talking, but I really do need to get to the other interviews. If I can trust you, come back in three days for your first assignment. You'll be working alone on this first job unless I tell you otherwise when you get back. This will be... well, to be blunt, a test run. You will be paid for your services, make no mistake, but I want to know exactly how you and your future coworkers perform - separately or together. In the meantime, any questions, extra things I should know, anything like that?"

Shade moves to the door once Khimara finishes talking.
"I'll be back.  That's all else you need to know." He says.
He opens the door, disappears into the shadows beyond it, and the door closes behind him.

As soon as Shade hit the streets, he turned down an alley and started heading out to meet up with other people who would be in the know: fences, other assassins and thieves that he used to work with.  The subject - Khimara.  He wasn't going to just go along with this guy without knowing exactly who he was working with.

It was a warm night, so the thick, poofy, formerly-navy-blue-now-greyish winter coat that Hermes was wearing would've probably stood out, were anyone looking. The trick to going unscrutinised, he'd found, was not to care. People, by and large, were prone to minding their own business. So long as YOU don't show any sign that you think what you're doing is odd chances are they'll feel silly pointing it out. Better yet was to look so odd on the surface that people felt no NEED to look closer, but he'd yet to find a proper balance on that score. It was a shame, because he had a natural aptitude for looking strange; his stiff and at times disjointed movements, the way his eyes would blankly stare... He double checked the bit of paper he'd written the address on for this "Black Sky Nighttime Cleaning Service," and looked back up at the building before him. It was low key, understated, the last place one would expect to be run as an assassination service... So if it was the place it was run by someone who knew what they were doing. Which was good. Mostly.
The man knocked twice before entering, closing the door quietly behind him. When he noticed Khimara he straightened up from a scrutiny-belaying slouch to an "at attention" stance that would make your average military instructor break down and weep. "I heard you were hiring."

Khimara nodded as Shade left, sitting down once he was sure the Ghost Thief was gone. He snagged a pencil from the holder on his desk and had just begun jotting down details about the cat when another person walked in. A human, but for some reason, Khimara had a feeling he was different. It wasn't quite the strange attire; he really wasn't one to judge clothing when his own outfit could be mistaken for half of a crappy vampire costume. No, it was the human's mannerisms that got to him: the way he straightened right up when Khimara glanced at him, the quiet, almost monotone speech.

The feline stood up, slightly tense. It could be an innocent, though there was no "Hiring" sign in the window; there was also, as he'd been reminded by Shade, the chance that this was a trap. But there were ways to disprove that.

"I am," he said evenly, appearing quite calm in spite of the risks. "I'm Khimara Transphermi. Did you receive a letter?" He held out his hand, palm up expectantly.

There was a pause just a split second too long as Hermes remembered the appropriate reaction. He made a note to double check some of his hardware later to see why.
"I understand that, in this business, it is often deemed inadvisable to leave matters of a particular variety committed to paper. I do not have the letter with me currently, although if given time I may be able to reassemble it. I have, however, brought a letter of recommendation..." He unzipped his coat just enough to reach in and (carefully, so as not to snag on anything important) take out an old newspaper clipping. It was the report of an untimely death of a scientist working with stem-cell research, what the police had chocked up to a double-suicide of him and his research assistant/mistress. "You will find that I am mentioned nowhere in the article, and that the objective was seen to with minimum fuss. Is this acceptable proof of my capabilities and intent?"

Khimara took the article and began to read it. "You can sit down if you like," he mentioned almost passingly, gesturing at the chairs, but waiting for a response before sitting down himself. He read the article very carefully, his brow just a bit furrowed. This was impressive, and given what the man had said in conjunction with the article's contents, it was pretty clear why he was here. But still, better to be safe than sorry.

"This is acceptable..." he said at last, his gaze a grain less suspicious. "But can you prove to me you're the one responsible for this? Though it is true I didn't ask, it's hard to trust someone who hasn't given me his name when I just gave my own."

The man sat down stiffly. "My name is Hermes McMortimer. In regards to proof..." Again, Hermes reached very carefully into his jacket and pulled out a switchknife, then placed it on the desk in front of Khimara, "Here is the weapon I used for the job. In this line of work, I've no doubt you've contacts who can tell you whose blood has been on it and whose fingerprints still are. Also consider it a token of good faith, proof that this isn't a trap. Its falling into police hands would put me away for an inordinate amount of time."

Khimara looked down at the knife for a moment or two, then smiled in a relieved way. Carefully moving the knife to a piece of blank paper for later, using his claws so that no fingerprints of his own marred its future analysis, he sat down and faced Hermes.

"Good. At least we know neither of us is here to off the other one," he said, his voice just jocular enough so any further mistrust would be alleviated. "Now, then. Why exactly do you need this job? I'm not doubting your capabilities; they're actually the reason why I'm asking."

"An understandable query," The friendly tones were wasted on Hermes. He was bad at reading them, and suspected nothing aggressive of Khimara anyways. After all, he'd essentially just been made an ideal offer; a hireling, complete with blackmail material. "Suffice to say that freelancing such skills is not half so lucrative as it sounds. If you have time to build up a reputation than a lone operator can get offers from all over, but when you're starting out you're liable to go months without a job offer. Yes, you're your own boss, but few people can really make a regular paycheck by commission without being affiliated with some manner of group or company when they're just getting started. Not only can they kickstart your reputation for you, but most clients develop a sort of brand loyalty that can be very good for keeping oneself economically afloat," The man flicked one strand of hair out of his face with a jerk of his head and leaned back, "Also, you don't meet many people working by yourself."

Khimara's face went from cheery to impassive when he saw that Hermes's manner hadn't changed. This wasn't simple politeness or formality, he was beginning to suspect; it was just the way the man was. And his answer had been analytical, precise, and perfectly accurate. There was much much more to him than met the eye... but then again, Khimara supposed, that was the case with most of these people.

"Good answer," he said at last, nodding slowly. "It's fair you should know that work here may not be entirely steady, and payment may not be the same every time, given the purpose of this place and the differences between clients. I'm guessing, though, that you expected that. Any qualms about working with others? It may not be necessary all the time - or at least I hope not - but there is always that issue."

"I've no objection. Indeed, I find people fascinating." Hermes' face broke into a smile just a split second later than it should have, and it looked... Rehearsed. "However, I've been told my people skills can be insufficient for some scenarios. I hope this wont be an impediment to my employment, as my demeanor has yet to result in a single assignation I have ever taken on escaping." The smile winked out, like someone flicking a switch. "The frequency of work is also no problem; anything is better than my current rate of business."

Khimara only watched Hermes now, all his people skills useless on this ... slightly sociopathic and mechanical person. It was only half-unexpected in the world of assassins, but better a socipath than a sadist. Anyone who took too much joy in this kind of work ended up getting caught first. Not to mention that oftentimes the victims weren't even killed outright... but his train of thought was beginning to derail. No matter how strange his demeanor was, Hermes had just agreed to the two things he knew were most difficult about the hiring process with no fuss whatsoever. That was better than he could've hoped. Now came the tricky part.

"I'd rather have someone of your demeanor than one who matches some of the people I've seen in this business," he said, his implications clear. "Now, ordinarily a prospective employer would ask what your skills were, but around these parts I expect  that would earn me a knife in the throat. And I prefer any demonstration of skill to be more organized than that. So, come back in... five days for your first assignment. Think of it as an audition, to see if you're the person I'm looking to hire. Any questions or things I should know of before I move on?"

Hermes considered the question carefully, and chose to err on the side of caution. Asking to know if a particular person ever contracted with this firm would probably send up red flags. "None come to mind. Thank you, I'll be back then." He stood up like some storeable piece of furniture unfolding upward and nodded, once. "I look forward to working for you, sir." With that, he turned on his heel and walked out.
All things considered, things had gone rather well. The man hadn't even noticed the glass eyes. Hermes wiped the lens of the camera hidden in the tip of the pen sticking out of his pocket as he made his way home. It had been a good night.

Khimara waited until he was sure Hermes was out of the building, then pulled out a yellow legal pad and began scribbling a few notes in jotty cursive handwriting.

"Shade, the Ghost Thief. Stealthy, not blindly trusting, focused. Perfect capabilities, but thievery tendencies and background in theft may give the police a clue if he gets carried away. Mentioned that around here he is well-known. Test in: three days.

Hermes McMortimer. Seems to be able to cover up a job very well. Nature a bit disturbing, interview only somewhat revealing. Motive unclear; should become apparent during testing. Test in: five days." He scotch-taped the article he'd been given to the pad as a reference point, then remembered the dagger. He ripped a corner off the legal pad and jotted down another note. "Call: Scylo Digita - DNA test." Then he folded it carefully and set the dagger and note in an empty desk drawer.

There. As long as he could keep things organized until the test runs started, things should go smoothly. Now, all that was left was to wait for the rest of the invited. He flicked a hand through his bangs, humming a bit to himself as he waited and mulled over the former applicants in his mind.

Forte checked his orders again. this was the right address but still something felt off about this. he'd watched the place for a while like he was scoping out a job. there were two visitors prior to his  assigned arrival time,  some time apart. he did not eavesdrop on there conversations more out of professional pride then any sense of decorum. he would find out the information his own way assuming that he took this job.

whom did he thing he was kidding? he was E's forte. one of the strongest general purpose assassins that the agency had. With in the agency he was known for getting the job done. whats more the number of jobs he had done were classified as many were high profile and he was always ordered to commit them with out a trace if possible. he checked the clock he had two minutes. if some one else was watching the door so be it. this was and interview not a job. even if it felt like it might be one.

he knocked on the door wishing that a stealth approach had be available but he understood that it wasn't the wises move in the situation. after all a client might not hire an assassin that snuck up on him before getting the job.  they might fear that they were on the list of future  jobs if not shown some respect.

At a knock on the door, Khimara's ears quirked. Assassins could be polite when they wanted, but still, with the directness of the other two, he couldn't help being a little suspicious. After all, it could be an innocent civilian - or worse, a cop. So caution was key.

He stood up and walked to the door, opening it partway - wide enough not to be unwelcoming and impolite, but also little enough so he could slam it, lock it and plan quickly if need be. But it didn't look like a cop, or a civilian, for that matter. Cops didn't wear armor plating like that, and civilians didn't either, unless a Star Wars sequel had come out or a convention was in town. As far as Khimara knew, neither of the sort was going on in the city right now. The only other possibilities were a rival agency's insurance policy - or just another rather flashy hopeful.

"Can I help you?" the blond feline asked, just a little caution in his voice. No harm in being wary of every possibility arising.

Forte Smiled, looking disarming kind of like a lost Otaku(fan boy) but when he spoke the illusion was broken. When he spoke it was with a slightly chilled voice full of confidence and undertones of  assertiveness. " I see you like my outfit" he said gesturing to himself. he really should have worn a jacket but the power ranger v style metal plate that he wore as a vest would not fit under one. " but the convention i'll be attending is still a few days away if you decide that you want one of you own" He  said  it lightly as  if his light armor was merely a costume. and while it dark in  nature and looked more like a convention outfit then any true means of protection. it was more formidable then it appeared. As it was by most appearances a singleton (cover all form ankles to neck excluding the hands)  with painted aluminum armor highlights but this was false. The singleton was actually and impaction resistance mesh-weave armor proof again small caliber fire arms such as .22 and .45. the metal portions of the armor was actually  reinforced titanium and  as for the paint? well it was paint but with  light absorbing qualities. as useful as it was in reality it was still mostly a disguise. After all very few people in their right mind would walk around in any thing like outfit out side of the convention hall that it was designed to blend in with. as true as this was he's stilled donned the pate armor partitions of it just before the appointed time for the the rondevu.

Forte had not need to wear his armor but his research such as it had been had suggested that there were numerous conventions of one kind or another in this city. To prepare an alibi he rented and hotels room and registered for a convention that was still months away. if asked he would simply say that he got the timing mixed up and most authorities would let him off with out questioning after that, those that didn't were likely to disappear.  that was another reason to wear this flashy black and dress armor with it's purple highlights. it looked so like some this out of a manga or cartoon that it could be explain away if anyone asked. he'd simply look and act like an over eager geek like that guy on the talk show that dressed up as a character form some computer movie(tron guy) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsF2RUMmpqc). it but the plate armor  vest and armlets were more then garish  additions to his true armor. He grinned if this was a trap or a test set up by the agency they would be more helpful the the standard bulletproof vest. His helmet which he considered a touch over the top was stashed away to reveal shoulder length purple hair and eyebrows but his most striking feature of his face were his eyes. They were like cold glass marbles. You could read anything you wanted into them and never come near the truth. They were not they eyes of a man not even a human man. Eyes like that belonged to a dead fish or perhaps some toy or robot more a reflection of life then alive them selves. What ever they took in they form his gaze they gave nothing back.

"but i digress good sir..." he said his voice flowing smoothly. for all the world he seemed like he was simply a convention goer in looking in on someone until his tone changed though it remained cold and his easygoing manner shifted subtly "as i was referred here someone whom i believe to be a 'mutual friend' that said you could use some help and that my service might come in handy." the human in armor nodded to the feline. "if you would be so kind as to let me in i believe that the details on the propose job would be bested discuss in private."

{edited for boxy the moderator and game player. also for anyone else who likes to read the rps.  sorry but posting right after i get in form work or right before i go can mess up the flow of my thoughts and post. well that and lack of sleep.}

Khimara wasn't sure what to make of the newcomer. He looked like someone who had ordered an extremely well-made outfit for an upcoming con, but his voice betrayed him. No mere fanboy had such a chilling voice. But among assassins, that tone was so common it was a wonder the police hadn't put that as a method of profiling. And his eyes were strange, too - like misty pools through which it was impossible to see what thoughts were swimming around in his head. One could only guess that the outfit was more than it seemed, too... The cat furrowed his brow just a bit once the new person was finished speaking. The last sentence couldn't have meant anything other than what he thought it did... but there was always the slightest chance.

"Okay," he said carefully. He opened the door just a little wider, but not quite wide enough to get in yet. "You said you were referred by a friend. Does that mean you don't have a letter to show me? I asked everyone to return the letter upon arrival, you see." Three applicants, no letters. Why did I put the damn instructions on there if no-one was going to follow them? he thought, just a little irritated.

The human smiled politely. obviously the feline had been having a rough day. He produced a manila envelope and handed it to the client. on the cover in Latin were the words "Deliver to client. do not open"  Then he produced an letter with his own instructions where were written in code guise as a simple help request. It stated to one read the code or viewed it through a filter. "client requires your services. 'it gave a location and a  time.' it also gave a caution that he was to assist in the utmost confidence. the the untrained it the instructions read.

[
Attention forte

A convention planer has requested assistance with a project. As your experience in the matter concerned are well rounded you were chosen to assists them. meet with them for and interview at ( date  and location also with appointment time) and present them with included envelope of reference material. do not open the materials as they are cover via employee confidence .  employer will brief you on the specifics of your part in the project.
]

he with held the letter however as he was at this point curious about the feline. he was nervous or at least curious as to what was exactly going on and seemed to be looking for some kind of hint form forte.  "if my friend had a letter form you it will probably be inside the envelope. i didn't read it as it says to deliver it to you"

Forte regetted not wearing the helmet but he still watched the feline closely. he reactions would tell forte all he needed to know. the would decide his employment or perhaps dictate the end of an innocent life. not that anyone was truly innocent in this day and age.

(what ever else is in the envelope there is a light profile of forte his skills and experience. it will also mention his less the perfect voice control. i can put and copy of the profile deliver in the ooc if you like.)

Khimara looked at the envelope, his minimal knowledge of Latin not enough to decipher the front message. He could guess what it meant anyway. The only things a person usually printed on the front of an envelope were warnings. He scanned the letter with his eyes; the human signaled pretty well that he didn't want it taken from him just yet. The coded letter seemed honest enough, but just to make sure he was telling the truth, Khimara opened the envelope and shook the contents gently into his hand. Sure enough, there was the paper containing his own instructions. He smiled his first genuine smile of the day, then quickly put himself back in a business mindset.

"Okay then," he said simply, stepping back and opening the door, but sounding slightly more pleasant. "Come in and let's look over what your employer has to say about you." He paused, then added, "By the way, my name is Khimara Transphermi."

Forte enters and stood by the chairs as the client  secured the door and  looked over his materials. Forte was now certain that this was the right place and the right person. He then handed over that letter of his instructions because of this and looked as one of the armor highlights armlets parts on his armor. A moment later he touched his chest plate which began to emit a low hum. Through these actions he made an electrical check that allowed him to sweep his immediate area for bugs as well as cause interference similar  to cell phone static in most listening / recording equipment. not he was ready to talk plainly. his casual attitude as all but gone ans his eyes took on the look of a seasoned professional.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Transphermi." he said still not sitting. "I am called Forte and  my employers said you have a project underway. The details of my part in it are to come form you." his attitude was almost military now. the look of a casual person was gone form his face. lines of joy replace by the look of some one who was here to do a job. ho much was cover and how much was real was still suspect but with contact made and identify computer the need for his cover person was over.

Khimara noticed the change in Forte's demeanor, but didn't mention it. No matter how they acted at first, everyone got right down to business once it was clear why both were here. He heard the hum of the armor, but decided not to ask about it until later. for now, he needed to brief Forte on the exact details of why he was here.

"You can sit down if you'd like. Forgive me if what I say isn't too clear," he said, knowing that even if there were no bugs in the room, saying anything outright was risky. "There are people in the world who view certain other people as, well, a stain on their lives. They would like nothing more than having that stain removed. Completely. I'm willing to help those people, but if I did it by myself...let's just say it wouldn't be particularly tidy or quick." He glanced at the profile Forte's employer had included. "Your employer clearly thinks you're capable of helping me, though I will still need to see if you're the right person. My first question is, are you willing to do this job now that you know the details?" He tilted his head just a bit as he posed the question.

Fortes sweep had confirmed that there was nothing in the room however there seen to be a narrow band of high frequency radio waves focused somewhere near the building. but that was fine his frequency should jam it.  Forte took the offered seat.

"thank you." he said his eye still emotionless. " yes but there are certain thing you should know. i'm not to keen on spectacles." his eyes seem to shimmer for a moment before going lifeless again  "business should be about money and accomplishing the task not about entertainment"

Khimara's eyes widened a bit behind his shades when Forte's eyes gleamed for that split second. This was a hard man to read, but that signal was clear as day.

"I couldn't agree with you more," he said plainly. "Which is exactly why I need people like you here." He looked at the profile again. "It should please you to know that I prefer hitmen to work alone on any job. You may need to work with others occasionally, though, but never more than one or two people at a time. I'm sure you understand. Payment will be based on what the client gives for the job. It will be split between myself, you, and anyone else you may happen to work with.

"I do have a few questions for you," he mentioned, almost casually. "From what you've said, I gather you're not in this job because you enjoy it. So why?" He leaned forward ever so slightly, curious.

" I'm impressed Mr. Transphermi" Forte truely was impressed. Very few clients realized that to him killing was more of a job then a pleasure. still he understood that sometimes his line of work need to be done. "Aside form that i was seemingly born to this career i also under stand that there are reason for it to be done: Political reasons, personal reasons; To stop a long war,  To prevent a war Or even to start a war that will prevent a worse tragedy. then there are my personal reasons as well." forte paused thinking about something his eyes focused yet unfocused in memory.

Oh yes he had his reasons for his continued work for the agency. Not all of them were personal though some of them were. Sometimes he would take and unauthorized vacation and they would send agents in to haunt him down. He sent most of them home alive a few not so much so. they  last vacation he'd gone  on ended when his younger brother was sent in. his brother had come ready for full out war yet they both knew that in the end forte would be victor it he really wanted to be free. it was there fifth attempt and forte normally returned in 3 attempts so the agency had gotten anxious..  it had taken him nearly and out to out flank his stalking younger sibling and to knock him out. later that day he arrived on the agency nearest check-in cover spot his sibling still knocked out and over his should his armor some what damaged and told the supervisor's via  secured link that if they ever pulled something like this again he'd hunt them all down kill them and leave the agency for good. they were not impressed and it was then that he received his orders for this job. they has said that his vacation had gone on long enough and that it was time for him to get back to work.

" but i am rambling. my only objection is when they want the job a publicly witness spectacle and that others that aren't part of the contract get hurt because of it. soldiers ands bodyguards are fine. they are part of the first of the job but some one like festival or parade goes hurt because of a bomb, missile attack or runaway vehicle? that is sloppy work and not worth doing."

The city had come into view though it was still quite a ways away. The sound of the waves breaking on the hull just barely beat out the creaking of the wood. The salt in the air had collected around his eyes and mouth, he blinked it away. As he neared the port the light traffic could be heard, and his radio crackled.

"This is dock services, this area is for shipping and commercial craft only. the peronal craft is just south. Be prepared to pay to dock there."

"Aye," said Shaun" I'll be makin me way down there then."

He turned port then began to take down his sails in preperation for landing.

Khimara resisted the urge to smile. "Good. Because I wasn't planning on any public spectacles anyway. As the front of this building should imply, this is meant to be a place for people to go who want a job done quietly and cleanly. If someone wants a job done publicly, they can go ahead; I'm not going to be involved with someone who will probably get caught minutes after the job is complete." The smirk he'd been fighting snuck onto his face. This was turning out quite well for his first few potential employees. He turned his eyes down to re-read the more-than-impressive credentials Forte's employer had included.

"Hm. Well, judging from what your employers say, I have no reason to doubt your capabilities. But I'd feel better if I was to see them in person." He paused, working through his schedule in his head. "In six days' time, show up for your first assignment - a test run. You will most likely be working alone on the job you're given, and you will be paid for your services. Once the job is done, I'll inform you whether or not I want you working here. Do you have any questions or comments before we wrap this up?"

Forte nodded ready to stand. " yes that will be fine. is it safe assume you know how to contact me either directly or though the agency?" he asked. it seemed to him that this was to be a two part interview with first and assessment then and trial run. It seemed that the agency was renting him out for a long term assignment well that was fine. he would rent and apartment for his civilian cover while reserving a hotel room for his professional cover.  that is were he would set up local contact if asked for it.

Later just off the docks


Shaun pulled out and looked at the note, paused then looked up. Putting the note away he hailed a cab. The ground was still slick from the previous rain. A cab pulled up and stopped with a squeek that signaled that the breaks needed work. Shaun got in.

"Where to?" The driver asked in a thick accent that shaun couldn't place.
"Black Sky Nighttime Cleaning Service." Shaun said.
"That's a bit away. There's closer ones." The cabby suggested.
"People say this one's the best. Got me favorite shirt all stained up ye know, never drink red wine inna white shirt."
"Fine by me." The cab sped off.

After about 20 minutes of driving the cab came to a rest out side the cleaners.

"That will be Thirty Fifty-six." Said the cabby. Shaun handed him a fourty Euro bill. "Keep the change." Shaun started for the door.

Khimara paused, looking over the bio Forte's employers had offered yet again. Finding nothing there, he shook the envelope, and a small slip of paper containing contact information provided by the agency fell into his hand.

"Yes," he answered with a mildly amused smirk, standing up as well. "In case there are any changes of plan, anticipated or otherwise, I'll let you know. Thank you for your time," he said, not so much bowing as nodding his head. Handshakes among assassins, even those you could semi-trust, were risky, according to his own judgment and experiences so far.

(Minutes earlier.)

"then i shall be on my way Mr. Khimara."

With a nod of respect Forte suited action to words and left the office. he did not tarry to spy on his employer nor did he try and plant any listing devices in the officer or near by. He believed that Mr. Khimara  was true to his beliefs and believed in what he was doing. Also he had mention that there would be others and there was no reason to believe he was the last interview of the night nor the first. there would be time between the interviews he was sure after all even armored everyday solutions had kept things tightly raps, during his time in that front for the agency he's only worked with 15 of the employees and they supposedly had a staff of hundreds of professional employees.

It was about fifteen minute after Forte had left that a cab arrived at the "Black Sky Nighttime Cleaning Service." but by then Forte was long gone and knew nothing of this.

After Forte left, Khimara had a couple minutes of free time. So he decided to use it to his advantage. Quickly, he pulled out the legal pad and jotted down:

Forte. Information given by employer suggests overqualification (a plus). Decent morals for those with his job. Put on the kind of assignments you would take if you could. Choose trial run victim carefully. At this he frowned a bit. The advertising for the test victims had given mixed results. A few of these people really deserved to die, but... well, you couldn't take a job like this without getting a few requests you were iffy about. He glanced at the one given to him by the gas company, frowning. Don't let what little moral you have get in the way... that's fine for the assassins you hire, but not for a guy like you. Still, he was tempted to put out a few hits of his own after these were done.

He set the pad aside, called Scylo to leave a message about his "talents" being needed for a new job ("Don't worry - nothing messy"), and waited for the next arrival. He'd been lost in thought for a while, there; it wouldn't be too long before someone else showed up.

Shaun strode up to the door and opened it.

The door clicked, and Khimara's eyed flickered over to see the new entry. A brown otter, with (comparatively) the most normal attire of anyone who'd shown up thus far. Still, one could tell he wasn't a mistaken passerby; he smelled like sea air, so he couldn't have "just been in town", nor would he have thought to come here first. The cat stood, pushing himself up from his desk and making eye contact as well as one could when their eyes were so well hidden.

"Can I help you?" he asked, as normal as could be.

"Me shirt, it has a stain-" Shaun was cut short by an angry cab driver. "You owe me money! This is no good!"  He said as he stormed up with his foot in the proverial door.

"That's forty it's more than enough!"
"Take your monopoly money! Give me some GREEN!"
"It's worth more than your pathetic currency! SRAM!"

their accents making it harder to understand eachother they continued to argue.

Khimara watched, at first only blinking with disbelief. Then as the arguing of the cab driver and the man who was either a misguided civilian or a masked-intentions applicant didn't end immediately, he grew impatient, drumming his claws on his desk and leaving little marks. Finally, with an angry, almost growled sigh, he opened a drawer and pulled out his wallet. Then, he got out from behind the desk and walked up to the two arguing men, putting his hand on the otter's shoulder and pulling him back a little and glaring at the cab driver.

Without waiting for him to say anything else, the feline reached up and whipped the Euro bill out of the cabbie's hand, shoved it into his own wallet, and pulled out forty American dollars to replace the international money.

"Here. Now get out." His tone was not just annoyed, as if he was speaking to a tantrum-y child, but edged on anger, indicating that the other man really shouldn't push it.

The cabby spat an insult at both of the men in his native tongue, then turned and walked away. The cab rocked a bit as he sat in the driver seat. "Crazy americans." was all he said as the cab sped away.


"As I was sayin' me shirt be stained. I sincerely hope ye can treat it." Shaun kept his cover to feel the situation out.

Khimara hissed at the cabbie as he left, baring pointy teeth to make a point. Once he'd calmed down a bit, the otter spoke up, with a thick brogue and an innocuous statement. Khimara turned to face him, looking placid.

"I'm sorry, sir, but as a relatively new service, we're still going through the hiring process. We don't have enough manpower to open yet." He shrugged and gave a serious-looking smirk. "Seems like you came pretty far just to get your shirt cleaned though. If I may ask, how did you even find out about us?" It was a bit of an obvious question, but he'd made sure to pick his words carefully.

"Oh? Your that new eh? Then I guess your advert in the mail was a bit early?" Shaun said. An obvious reply Shaun also had to choose his words carefully incase it happened to be a hoax.

Khimara's eyebrows raised, more for acting purposes than anything. "Hnh. I only sent out that ad to a few people. I don't suppose you still have it with you? I'd like to see it." He held out his hand and waited.

Shaun handed him a couple of papers,  some with advertisements of similar companies others blank to allow for cupons. The letter was attached to one of the pages faceing inward. A quick glance by a normal shop keep would find it to be another blank page. Then again if suspicions were correct this was no normal shop keep.

Khimara shuffled through the papers, skimming both sides of each sheet carefully. Finally, he found his message, cleverly hidden. He smirked wider, his expression knowing and pleased. The otter was careful and streetwise. This was going well.

"Ah. I see. You're the one I was looking to hire, then?" he asked, his tone kept in such a way that Shaun would know that they both knew the real reason why they were here. "I'm Khimara Transphermi, and I assure you, I'm the one who sent this ad." He tapped his message with a claw as he said it. "So who might you be?"

"Former Sgt. Damsey o' the army o' the republic o' Ireland, but that seems like something ye should already know isn't is? After all it was adressed to me specificly." He winked and grabbed a chair. "Hope ye don't mind. I just came in on my boat a while ago and I like to stand while I sail." He sat down. "So tell me ye had to know something of me to call me from the emerald isle. What have ye heard?"

Khimara smiled a true smile at last and moved back to his chair. "No, I don't mind. And as for what I know, well, I did know you were military, but I also found out you haven't lasted in other jobs for some reason. Every time you were hired to a position like the one I'm offering, though, you did well. Doesn't say why." He paused. "I looked up a few of the cases, and from what I can tell, most of your jobs involved people who deserved what was coming, more or less. Doesn't that make finding a steady job a little hard?" It was a rather heavy question for the start of an interview, but Damsey seemed like the kind who would give a straight answer. And it was fair to tell him why he'd been asked away from home.

"I won't lie to ye, it makes it challanging , but as you well know there's plenty 'o scum that needs mopped up, and enough people that want it done." Then for a moment his face went from lighthearted to stone cold. "However I will NOT kill a decent man, understood?" He leaned back.

Khimara paled a bit at Shaun's change in demeanor, but then relaxed and nodded. "I understand. In fact, the motives of all our clients are questioned prior to accepting a job. We may take on a few...controversial cases from time to time, but motive plays an important part in taking on cases nonetheless. Rest assured, you won't have to take care of any problems you don't want to." It was true. Even Khimara had to draw the line somewhere. He didn't add, though, that a few of the jobs he'd agreed to take on weren't exactly the kind he'd hoped for. After all, there was no way you could run a completely moral hit agency.

"Speaking of problems, there are a few things you need to know. You may need to work with others sometimes, but never more than one or two people. I expect jobs to be carried out as efficiently as possible; nothing too messy left behind, or we both lose our jobs. Also, payment is based on what the client gives, and will be split between myself, you, and anyone you end up working with. Is that all right with you?" he asked, leaning a hair's breadth forward in anticipation.

Shaun smiled "Good ta see that allowances for morals runs in th' family, Mr. Transper...Transerm...Sorry in all th' years I've worked for your father i never really learned ta pronounce th' name." Shaun stood up and streached a smidgion. "th' other stuff's well and good, no objections from me."

No surprise showed on Khimara's face, but he did smile in return while feeling just a bit dumb. The cat had never seen Shaun in person before today, but when hed read his name during the info search he'd done, it had sounded familiar somehow. So this was why his dad had bit back a laugh when he told him the people he was planning on hiring - he'd wasted time and simultaneously shown that Gareth had more of an influence on his tastes than he'd realized. He'd told his father not to get involved with this; not that he didn't respect him, but he wanted to handle this himself. Clearly, even when Gareth stayed out of Khimara's business, it didn't matter. It doesn't mean anything... don't let this bug you. Damsey seems like a nice guy anyway, he mentally reassured himself, standing as well.

"Just Khimara is fine, trust me. The last thing I want to do is capitalize on my father's work," he said. "Now, I'll need you to come back in ... one week, for a test run of your skills. I hope you understand; the other applicants have the same things scheduled, and I need to make the days as sporadic as time allows. You'll be paid, of course, but you'll also be under scrutiny - once the job is done, I'll tell you if I want you working here or not. Before we finish, is there anything I should know about, or any questions you have?"

"I have no question fer ya Khi, though I will say ye might want to read yer fathers files, there's somethin' on there ye should know 'bout me that I feel uncomfortable talkin' 'bout." Shaun strode across the impressively preserved antique wooden floor. With his hand resting on the brass doorknob he said in passing over his shoulder " Ye can fine me on me boat down at th docks." Then he walked out.

The town was quiet save for the random car splashing in a pot hole or the late night bar crowd. Speaking of it was some time to last call and Shaun decided to have a drink before renting a motel room,he didn't feel like heading back to his ship tonight.

Khimara got a bit of a questioning look about checking his dad's files, but he nodded agreeably nonetheless as Shaun left. Once the otter was gone, he pulled out the legal pad again.

Shaun Damsey. Ex-military, but almost doesn't act like it. Moralistic; once again, give this one the jobs you would take yourself. He paused, and then begrudgingly added, Ask Dad about details. But he wouldn't do that yet; he had more people to interview, and trhere was the matter of customers... He sat back, put in a pair of iPod headphones, and let David Bowie and Trent Reznor keep him company till the next applicant came in.

"I'm afraid of Americans...I'm afraid of the world...I'm afraid I can't help it...I'm afraid I can't..."

Cleaning service. Stepan sat idly in his 1973 Thunderbird, parked adjacent to the quaint establishment's sign. Everybody calls it a cleaning service. It was almost unsettling. The verb "clean" implied making a certain person, place or thing free of clutter, all nice and proper. Generally a positive thing, but when used in anything but the most literal sense, it turned ugly and vile. Even though this place was probably a lot more high-class than the typical urban streetcleaning/death squad service, it made Stepan uneasy; he had no delusions about what he did for a living, so why did people have to label their fronts specifically as cleaning companies? ...the hell do I care? I need the money. He parked his sleek, black machine just out front of the building, closed the door with a moderate slam, and strode towards the front door.

"Excuse me, but I'm here for an interview." He gave his short hair a quick finger-combing before replacing both hands in the pockets of his gray sports coat. As his eyes settled on Khimara, however, his body stiffened and relaxed. For a split second, he thought a literal dog-guard was minding the lobby. Thankfully, it was just a feline. Metahuman minding the lobby. Maybe this place has more to it than I thought.

Khimara was half-asleep, now listening to "Love Stinks" by the J. Geils Band, when he heard a voice that wasn't in the song. He blinked his eyes open, saw a human standing there, and remembered where he was. Okay, don't do that again; suppose they figured you were a janitor and decided you weren't worth the "real manager's" time? Then they found out and took over? Khimara was practical, but in this business, being practical meant having a weird imagination. He took his iPod off the desk and hit the pause button, yanking the headphones out of his ears and standing up.

"Sorry about that. Did you receive a letter?" He held his hand out and waited, the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly.

"But of course." He produced the small, neatly folded letter from his breast pocket. "The name is Spud, by the way. Antone Spud." He wasn't about to give his real name right off the bat. If the place turned out to be legit, then he'd consider using it.

"Just out of curiousity, how did I receive this letter? Referral from a satisfied customer or did you pick my name out of a hat?"

Khimara took the letter and skimmed it with his eyes, placing it on the desk when he was done. "I found everyone through referrals from family associates. I also did some snooping of my own to confirm what I'd heard. This company is pretty new, so I couldn't just start hiring people without knowing anything about their skills."

A thought occurred to him right then. "For my own curiosity, has anybody else seen this letter? As the manager of this place, I prefer interviews to be private."

"No sir. My eyes only." Family associates, huh? Maybe the place is legit. He couldn't help giving Khimara a good look over. Hair, suit, immaculate appearance, iPod... The next generation of mafia. Same clothes, different species, new trends. Working for this guy wouldn't be like in the movies or true crime novels, but at least it would give some job security.

"As odd as this sounds," he gave a nervous chuckle and another quick hair-combing, "this is my first formal job interview. Us west-coasters tend to freelance rather than sign up with outfits."

Khimara nodded briefly at the affirmation of secrecy, feeling Antone analyze him and not caring. Lack of trust was practically a job requirement for these people. He'd paid attention to the human earlier; he seemed almost unsettlingly normal. But that was to be found out in the interview, not right when he walked in.

"That's understandable. Most of the people who've come in so far were brought here because they did very well on their own. I myself can't really risk freelancing that often, but I was, well, bred for this line of work." There was a beat. "Oh, I almost forgot. My name's Khimara Transphermi." He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "You can sit down if you like, the interview might take a few minutes."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Transphermi." Stepan's grip was firm and warm, just like any good gentleman's. He took his seat shortly afterwards. "So, what do you wish to know about me?" Possibly the standard questions: skills, experience, past contracts, medical problems, describe yourself without using the letter E, anything along those lines. "Because right off the bat, I'll tell you there're few better men than myself in the tri-county area."

If his family members had questioned previous clientelle, they'd find a plethora of satisfied customers. "Courteous, calm, adaptable and efficient" being the key descriptor in most accounts. Really, the only complaint was from one Victor C. Vallejo, and it wasn't so much a complaint as it was an observation. "Yeah, he did just what I asked. More than I asked, really. I have him kill some vato at his house, and not only does he blow his head off, but every dog in the yard too. Guy's got somethin' against pits, man."

Khimara smiled at the handshake and sat down himself, opening a drawer and flipping through a few sheets of paper inside before finding the one he wanted, skimming it and shutting the drawer.

"Well, with most of the ... nominees, for lack of a better word ... all I had to go on was their job statistics and word-of-mouth. So I guess my first question would be, why did you start in this business? You already said you were a freelancer, so it makes sense that the targets were random, but even then, no-one picks this kind of job without a reason."

Stepan sniffed a little, rubbing his nose before he spoke. "Personal reasons. I killed a man in high school and went along from there." He subconsciously rubbed his forearm. "It was deceptively easy, all things considered, and let me know that I had an aptitude for precise murder."

He paused for a moment, and gave a pleasant smile. "And before you ask, he did deserve it."

Khimara gave an approving smile. "Good. Hopefully, that will be the case with clients here; motives will be questioned before the case is taken. You'll take jobs alone most of the time, but there will be the occasional group job."

His face grew more serious now. Even if he had no reason to suspect Spud of being unprofessional, this was a necessary warning. "By the way, on group jobs, as always, you'll be expected to be quiet and efficient. I'd prefer not to have any signs that something ... unusual happened, for your sake and mine." He relaxed again. "Also, when a group job is complete, pay will be split between you, your teammates, and myself. Is that a problem?"

"Depends." One of the great joys of being a freelance assassin was knowing you were the only liability on a job. Add more people to the equation, and things start to get problematic. "What's the split on payment, and are these people of the highest quality? I refuse to work with anyone who can't follow direction or watch themselves." Payment was something he could negotiate; having to work with sub-par killers, on the other hand, was not.

"I've heard stories of planned jobs falling apart at the worst times, all because of one guy who couldn't stick to the plan. I need assurance that that won't happen."

Khimara didn't show it outwardly, but he was pleased at the question. Clearly, this was a man used to being careful - exactly what he'd hoped for. "I appreciate the question. First of all, I couldn't risk hiring anyone mediocre at this job. Hell, I can't even risk hiring someone who's just good. I'm in the same boat as you, so I can assure you that I'm taking all necessary measures to prevent anyone the least bit sloppy from being hired.

"As for payment, I intend to take 20% from each individual successful job. For group jobs, only 15%. The rest will be evenly divided among whoever completed the job. Oh, also, jobs will be assigned based on which of you and your coworkers I believe would complete it most successfully. Either that, or by personal request from the client." He paused to take a breath. "Work here may not be too regular, as you may have guessed. Will that be an issue?"

Khimara's take of only 20% had Stepan hooked, and it showed on his ever-so-slightly raised brows. He couldn't get better payment outside of a total mafia contract, and even that had its downside. Even with only 80% of total profits, work would at least be a lot more frequent and with better client screening. What a hassle that was, making sure the customers weren't ratting you out. "No issue at all, Mr. Transphermi. Just seat me with competent people and I'll sign whatever contract you want."

Though, there was one caveat. "But I can't take supernatural targets. I'm good for my kind, but going after people who can immolate me with willpower alone or turn into a demon past midnight is something I can't do. Too much risk."

Khimara nodded and wrote down the detail in shorthand in the margins of his yellow legal pad. He had nearly forgotten about those kinds of targets... hopefully, he wouldn't need to take any out himself, though if push came to shove, he could certainly do that. But given his abilities, it was hard to complete jobs in a way that was neat and inconspicuous. To find a man with cobra venom in his blood might be confusing enough to be misleading, but to test the DNA in the venom would mean his end.

He slid the pad out of sight once again. "Understood. If that's all there is, I'll need you to come back in ... nine days for your first assignment. This will be a test run so I can see your skills for myself. It will be a real job, on which you will work alone. You'll be paid for your services, and once the task is complete, we'll know if this job is right for you." He smiled in a way that was just friendly enough to be professional at the same time. "Any questions, comments, other things I should know?"

"Just two comments. One, I only require general knowledge about a target. The less I know outside of the essentials, the better." It helped him sleep better at night knowing as little as humanly possible about each victim. "And two, I... would prefer to not work alongside canines. Bad experiences with them during childhood." To put it lightly. He stood and quickly gave his sportscoat a little straightening.

He produced a pleasant smile and small business card from his pocket, flipping it neatly onto the desk. Antone Spud, Health and Safety Director, and seven digits. "My number, should you so need it." Stepan made his departure, speaking out just as he exited through the door. "I look forward to working with you and your diverse cast of players." And all that was left was some dinner and a good night's sleep. Wonder if that Max's on Fifth Street is still open...

Khimara took the business card between two fingers and did a small hand-flick wave as Spud left. Slipping the card into his desk drawer, he picked up the legal pad yet again.

"Antone Spud. Human. Pleasant, professional, conscientious. Do not put on jobs with canines or supernatural beings; give minimal information about targets. Test run in: nine days." He set the pen aside and leaned back for a minute. He was hoping supernatural cases would be rare, as even he would have trouble with overly powerful beings. Cases involving animals were probably safe for him to handle, though. After all, he didn't intend to let the cleaners have ALL the fun, and some cases would require help.

Getting off track, he quicky realized, and pulled out the list of clients and targets he'd received so far. Glancing at the list of applicants for the job, he frowned. Not enough targets yet. He wanted to judge each applicant individually. This was a problem. Hn. Better hope you get at least a few more targets. Maybe word's started to spread underground...

The world has gone mad today,
and good's bad today,
and black's white today,
and day's night today,
and that gent today
you gave a cent today
once had several chateeeaaus~

Stepan listened to the tinny radio of his car, idling just outside of the local Max's Bistro. A franchise joint, to be sure, but with just enough class to keep out the typical punchclock patrons who'd rather spend money on a value menu than anything halfway substantial. Not that he was considering that kind of thing at the moment, though. He looked to the radio, as though it were something sentient. ...I swear to God, this thing never plays music that isn't topical. He switched off the device and exited his Thunderbird, giving a nice *slam* to the door.

"Booth or table, sir?" The receptionist perked up at Stepan's entrance, having been on the verge of passing out mere moments earlier. "Just a bar seat," he replied, picking up a menu on his way over. It seemed as practical a location as any. "I'll just have the apple pie with a glass of nonfat milk, if you please. And a copy of the Mercury." Normally a morning activity, but at least at night there would be less background noise to distract him.

By any objective account, he should have felt happy to find work, but something made him just a bit apprehensive. It should be nothing. What have I to worry about?

Max's had a nice homey feel to it, the music was light colonial, the decor though all pourpose seemd to fit and the ambiant lighting was enough to see the room but not so bright as to keep you from enjoying your stay.
Shaun was enjoying  a shellfish platter with some Budwiser, normally he'd of gone for a Guiness, but he thought "What the hell, the Yanks seem to like it, might as well try it."

Just then the door opened, he didn't pay attention till the man sat down at the bar three stools away from his table. He looked him over then set about devouring the clams, oysters and scallops in a semi-noisily manner.

Stepan gave a fleeting glance towards the otter, noting his meal with a stifled smile. Though before he had the chance to snicker or snerk, a young waiter interrupted. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly and produced a menu, "but we're fresh out of apple pie. Could I get you anything else?" Stepan rubbed the side of his nose in agitation. "In that case, I'll have the hot pastrami and a Samuel Adams. Boston lager, please." He handed the menu back, waiting until the waiter scurried off before muttering. "At twelve dollars it better be the best damn sandwich I've ever eaten."

He looked back to Shaun. "Is your meal worth the inflated menu price?"

The otter smiled as he looked up and said, "Coulda' fished better outta that slimey bay, but I ain't one to gripe about payin for conviniance." After the last bit of oyster was gone he decided that he'd have some stronger stuff to drink, so he shuffled up to the bar a stool away from the man who had adressed him. The aroma surounding the otter wasn't a particularly bad one, though it was diffrent, and resembled a boot dunked in sea water for a month the dreged up and filled with booze and fish and left to sit. He looked at the human and extended his hand. "Shaun, and you?"

"Antone. A pleasure." He shook the otter's hand, fighting the urge to immediately wipe it off on his pant leg. The scent didn't exactly bother Stepan, but it certainly clashed with his more clean-cut odor and complexion. "Call me crazy, but I get the impression you're not from these parts." He gave a cordial smile. "Wanted to see how American brew stacks up to something more European, or did you just come to sightsee?"

"Family." he lied "Me sister moved 'ere a bit ago and ended up in the hospital." He motioned for the comely barmaid to take an order.
"What will i be?" she asked
"A bit o' that stuff 'n' a BLT" he replied
"Hungry arn't you?" she laughed
"Liquor don't sit well on shellfish alone, dear"
She giggled and set about her buisness.
"And where are you from?" He asked the man

"Peyton, Iowa." He at least possessed the kind of unassuming and otherwise humdrum demeanor of an Iowan. "Just here on holiday. Heard the climate was best by government test." He perked as the waiter walked by, handing off a worn copy of the previous morning's paper. "Sorry to hear about your sister, though. Nothing serious, is it?" He flipped over the business section, folding the periodical halfway.

"Well if a broken bone's somethin' serious then yeah." he said with a laugh. "So what's so special 'bout this place that brings ya 'ere on 'oliday? 'Ere must be somethin more 'n some smeggin report done by wee little men in wee little black ties."

"Well, it's fairly quiet. Things back home were getting a little too... boisterous for my liking." He flipped a page over. "The other counties started pushing their undesirables on us. Didn't exactly make for easy living." A lie, of course, but it essentially described his experience after leaving Palo Alto. "You'd be wandering the streets past ten and something knocks you unconscious, drags you back to its lair, and you'd wake up missing several parts. At least that's what the savage ones do; the sophisticated ones are even worse."

"Aye, it's almost as if ye talkin' of IRA country." He took a bite of sandwich and though the mouthfull he could hear a muffled "An' God help ye if ye protestant."

"We haven't reached the 'blowing up churches and airports' phase quite yet, but yes, it's comparable." Stepan smiled. "Orthodox Catholic, by the way." He turned another page, giving the police blotter a quick scanning. 'A man, 21, was bitten in the neck by one of four males of indeterminate racial makeup in the 900 block of McAleer Court about 6 p.m. yesterday and was taken by a city Fire Department ambulance to St. Mercy Hospital. His condition was not available.'

With a barely audible sigh, he put  the paper aside. "This may seem like a silly thing to ask, but... do things seem more dangerous now than they did in the 70s and 80s? In the general sense of 'is it safe to walk the streets at night?'"

'I've got me own way 'o belivin' an' nondenomonational sounds the same as pagan in those parts." He made a dismissive wave, "Let's leave religion inna church hmmm? Anyway, in response to ye question, if yer askin then ye already know the answer." Shaun shifted uneasily.

"Yeah, I suppose it is that evident." The waiter dropped by to deliver his meal and a tired smile, and was politely dismissed by Stepan. "It reminds me of the time when..." He paused, picking up a sandwich half. "...I really shouldn't bother you with my ramblings. It's poor social grace."

"We're at a bar, I'm bound by the code to at least listen to ye." He paused "An so're you ta pour your guts out." He looked at him intently. "So..."

"...have you ever had that moment where you realize that crazy, unfathomable things really do exist?" Stepan gave Shaun an careful look. "And I don't mean reading about Bigfoot or aliens in the National Enquirer, I mean actually seeing flesh-and-blood things that a rational person knows shouldn't be real."

Shaun looked at him seriously, leaned in and in a hushed voice said "Mate, have ye ever heard of a kracken?"

It seemed that Shaun knew perfectly well what Stepan was getting at. "You mean to tell me that you've seen a squid the size of a Chrysler building?" He wasn't quite sure if any of his own experiences could top witnessing a living, breathing sea monster.

Shaun shrugged off his jacket and slipped his left arm out of his shirt, two large circular scars one about the diameter of a basketball and another the size of a small saucer adorned his shoulder. "They try n' tell me and the handful o' others that survived it was jus' a large squid, but we know better. I was th' lucky one an' only got the TIP o' the tindril." He put his wounds away and shrugged off the stares that came with stripping in public, untill a girl whistled at him. He just showed his ring finger and went back to the convorsation.

Stepan's own scars itched as he saw the odd marks. "That's..." He hemmed and hawed a little. Just the thought of facing such a beast made his own perils feel silly by contrast. "...I'll be honest and say nothing I've experienced could compare with a tentacled horror. My proverbial hat tips to you, sir."

"You'll get yours in due time friend." He took a swig of the whiskey. "Th' world's a dangerous place, when ya 'ave kids just th' thought o'em leavin th house scares ya shitless, ya know? He looked at the bottle, it was almost drained.

"Most of the reason I'll never have any. The Boogeyman would just eat them while I'm asleep." He finally got down to eating his sandwich, taking a few good bites before wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "...and, uh, I say that as somebody with a friend who did have that happen."

"Mine would kick 'is ass eight ways ta sunday, then scare 'is kids." Shaun started getting out money. "It's about time I be heading back to my place. Here's 'open we meet again Antone." He downed the last of the bottle to punctuate it.

"Same." Stepan extended his hand for a goodbye shake. "Stay safe, Shaun. But after surviving a Kraken attack, street hoods around here should be nothing." Part of him felt tempted to say 'drive safe,' but if his hardiness was any indication, the otter could easily hold down his liquor.

Later that night, Khimara was heading out to the apartment he was renting while here in the city. This was the only thing about his plan he didn't like. He was used to big houses like his own back home. Even his parents' house had been big when he was growing up. But it woud have to do until he had earned enough from this. He wasn't going to take the easy way out and borrow more money from Liz,nor did he want to ask his father for help. Personal success was a drug for him, and if there was no challenge involved in achieving it, there was no point.

When he reached the apartment, his cell phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He checked it curiously, and his eyes rolled behind his shades at the caller ID. It's like he knows instinctively that I'm putting off calling him... He set his jaw and snapped the phone open.

"Hi Dad. ...Actually, I did get a haircut. ...The usual half-inch trim." He hoped smirks weren't audible. "So what is it?"

As his father talked, Khimara's smirk faded. And turned into a reluctant grin. "Really? ... I told you not to do me any favors. ... Whatever. Well, I hate to say it, but... thanks, Dad. I gotta go, it's late, but I need to talk to you tomorrow, okay? Right. Tell Mom I said hi. See ya."

He hung up, and allowed himself a look towards heaven and a quiet, triumphant "Yesssss." He was a little angry that his dad had - indirectly - done exactly what Khimara had asked him NOT to do. But thanks to Gareth's smug wish for his son to succeed, he had two clients to see this week - and hopefully, two more victims for the tests.

A rather large traditionally styled building stood alone in a mid-town district.  The establishment specialized in Mandarin Chinese cuisine and was nearly world renowned for its seafood dishes, especially the fish.  A common place for those with a taste for seafood, Chinese, organic and healthy.  It was not the typical place one would expect to find those that plied the shadow society of our modern world.  That was precisely why this was such a perfect spot.   

A dark booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant sat a lone figure.  He was dressed in a simple gray business suit, was well groomed, and quite serene in general aura.

Any professional with an eye for the concealed would notice the characteristic way the suit jacket rested upon his frame which clearly identified his shoulder holsters.  Being a federal agent allowed him to carry them legally concealed, but tonight was not official federal business.  He also sat facing outward, his back to the corner and with full view of the entrances and windows.

Sipping jasmine tea, the snow white fox's eyes followed the waiter as he made his rounds, finally arriving at his table.

The man nodded, "<Hello and welcome Mr. Gray!>"

Alasdair smiled warmly, nodding, "<thank you.  If you please, when Mr. Transphermi arrives, please bring him to this table.>"

The waiter was surprised, "<sir, I...>"

Alasdair raised his hand, "<do not worry, nothing will be happening, just a pleasant dinner.  I will order when he arrives.>"

"<ah yes, very well sir.>"  He nodded respectfully as he withdrew back towards the front.

Now, he should be punctual, about fifteen minutes.  He keeps to certain routines, even if subconsciously.

The fox waited, sipping jasmine tea and grinning wryly, surprise was such an interesting spice to add to dinner.

Completely unaware of whatever scheming and fact-checking on himself might be going on behind his back, Khimara stepped into the Chinese restaurant about fifteen minutes later. The first thing he'd done after getting an apartment and the cleaning building was to figure out where the vegetarian-friendly restaurants were. To add to that, this place's braised fish was the best he'd ever had. He'd only been here a few times, but he was fond of it already.

Tonight seemed a little different, though. The waiter at the front greeted him as usual, but when Khimara glanced at his usual table near the middle right, the waiter interrupted his thoughts. "Actually, Mr. Transphermi, the gentleman at the back corner has asked that you sit at his table tonight."

Khimara blinked unsurely behind his sunglasses, but nodded and said "All right, then." He followed the waiter to the dark corner. He was almost tempted to remove his sunglasses, considering the lighting in this section, but if random strangers were asking for him in out-of-the-way restaurants, it was better to be taken seriously.

At last, he reached the table and slowly sat down, keeping his eyes on the white fox in front of him. The darkness caused by the lighting and his shades bothered him a little more than he'd admit aloud, but he did slip the shades a little bit farther down his nose, slivers of blue visible over the top of the glasses.

"Hello. Do I know you?" he asked, in the polite but vaguely impersonal tone that is customarily reserved for these situations.

Speaking in perfect mandarin, the fox addressed the waiter, "<please bring Mr. Transphermi his usual drink and give us a few moments to look the menu over and bring some more tea as well.>"  Alasdair handed over the empty pot of tea.

With a nod the waiter hurried off to bring the drinks.

Turning back to Khimara, his smile deepened, "no, you do not know me, but I do know you and your father.  I am Alasdair Gray, special agent with the National Security Agency and representing the Department of Homeland Security.  I will be assisting the local law enforcement."

The fox let that bit of information sink in, "but before you jump to any conclusions, I am not here on official business for the police or the U.S. Government.  There are those in this world that exist above governments and laws, they direct things from the shadows.  Organized crime, zaibatsu style corporations, world banking conglomerates and religious organizations all have top leaders that answer to the direction of true controlling powers.  Some of this is directly, others indirectly."

The waiter arrived, with the drinks and Alasdair switched seamlessly back to mandarin, "<thank you, give us just a few more minutes.>"

The waiter nodded and retreated back towards the front.

The fox thought for a second before continuing, "It is all rather involved and really not a concern for you, but I am here as your liaison, of a sort.  I know all well what you are starting, please do not attempt to deny it.  As I stated I am not on official business for my day jobs.  What I am here to do is offer advice, you will receive many contracts to fulfill, but you must know what is the most correct stance to take.  I only ask that if there is a question as to the consequences of a contract, that you consult me.  I will not use this information against your consultants, but I will instruct you on how to proceed.  I may even compensate you to change targets to the placer of the contract."

He paused again to allow the information to settle before throwing another bizarre twist, "you also can call upon me to consult for you as well.  I can arrange to release your consultants from prison, tamper with evidence, and such services for a fee.  I can also be used to remove someone from your payroll if they become troublesome, but I am not a lay-person in this field, I will not take 'jobs' on just anyone.  You will know which ones I should handle."

The fox stopped and waited for Khimara's response, this should be quite an interesting one he wagered. 

The moment Alasdair made clear his day jobs, Khimara's fur bristled a bit, and he repositioned his hands on the table – folded so one was slightly in front of the other, his claws clearly visible. The defensive pose stayed even as the fox continued to talk. What the agent knew was impressive - Khimara was positive he'd heard his last name spoken amid the Mandarin, and that he'd found out about what he was planning before any of the heavy stuff had started was remarkable. More curious still was his offer of help, an olive branch thrown out after shots were fired into the air.

But even if what he said was true, treating it as such right off the bat would be a stupid and incredibly dangerous mistake. So the feline reached for his drink - orange pekoe tea - and relaxed his stance just a hair. His claws came back in, but one hand stayed on the table and pointed slightly towards Alasdair.

"Well, forgive me if I don't immediately thank you for your offer and shake your hand, Mr. Gray, but this all seems very far-fetched," he said, keeping the same tone as before. "You've yet to give me a reason to trust you, after all. The knowledge you have only proves that you know what I'm starting. And given what you've told me, we have ample leverage on each other, so all you've done so far is tell me that you are a possible threat. So how do I know this isn't a trap, official or off the books?" He sipped his tea, calm, but on his guard just the same.

Taking a sip of jasmine tea, Alasdair raised an eyebrow at the aggressive stance Khimara had taken, he's more excitable than I thought, but he can keep his cool and think logically, that is good.

"Mr. Transphermi, please do be careful with those claws, our hosts may not appreciate the scratching up of their tables.  Heavily lacquered ceylon ironwood is very difficult and dangerous to make.  I also promised there would be no trouble."  The fox allowed the inquiry about trust to hang for the moment, "do you know who are hosts are?  They are of the Snow Fox Lotus Triad, one of the oldest groups.  The members are descendants of a close friend and disciple of Ancient Lotus... er, Ho Hsien-Ku, one of the eight taoist immortals.  I would not want to bring trouble to her house."

Alasdair let his shoulders drop a bit and shifted a tad in his chair, he allowed the small bit of stress drift away with the steam from his tea, "trust is something of a commodity, working for those that are essentially discordains makes trust a strange bedfellow.  I cannot offer much in this area.  However, there are a few things I can offer." 

The white fox produced a small, circular gold pin.  The center of which sat an apple wreathed in a burst of what was probably light.

"If you show this to your father, he will confirm why I am here and what I represent.  He does not know me though, so this does not prove my character.  The other bit I can offer is information.  Your operation has drawn the attention of a mafia soldato who's primary source of income is assassination.  Vito Augello is a bit crafty, he's convinced his caporegime that you are muscling in on his rackets, and the capo wants you roughed up a bit and put in your place.  Vito plans to put a bullet in your belly and take you out of the game permanently.  He will claim self defense, after all he's a made man and you are an outsider."

Handing Khimara a menu the fox smiled widely, "that's tonight by the way, so I suggest you have a nice meal.  It's a couple of toughs and a hardened hitman who specializes in close range pistol and knife assassinations.  I can give you a hand if you like."

He put up a black furred handpaw, "before you dart your eyes around looking for assassins in the dark here, the Snow Fox Lotus triad knows nothing of this, and the mafia would not dare attack you on their territory.  You walked here, so likely they have setup for you near your apartment."

Khimara sheathed his claws slowly, keeping his expression even. His eyes got less cold and more curious when Alasdair revealed who owned the restaurant, but the curiosity was just clinical enough for him to not look too surprised. He accepted the gold pin the fox offered, rolling it between his fingers and paying careful attention. Gray was professional, he had to give him that. He didn't look much older than Khimara, but he must have had a few more years of experience. The cat examined the pin only a moment longer before slipping it into his pocket.

As it turned out, this was a smart move, because had he still been holding it when he heard Alasdair's next piece of information, he'd have dropped it on the floor.

He accepted the menu and looked at it for a minute, but didn't really focus on it. He was planning. If what the fox said was true, he might not be able to do anything about it. Shifting form and attacking them would mean risking the exposure of his powers...killing the capos to keep it a secret would be even worse, and the family would just send more. I'm not about to sacrifice my life when I've just started out...what to do, what to do...

Then it occurred to him. The solution was just across the table from him.

The shapeshifter lowered the menu, adjusting his sunglasses so the visible slivers of his eyes disappeared. "Actually, if that's true, I could use your help. If you know as much about me as you seem to, you might know that taking care of this particular problem by myself would not only be very dangerous, but would attract too much attention for my liking." He could hear the neighbors now: 'Excuse me, Mr. Owner-of-the-complex? I heard some very loud, very strange noises coming from that new young man's room. It almost sounded like he was keeping several large animals in there...' He smirked a little before continuing. "It would be much more convenient if you took care of this for me. And just to make sure these people don't try anything like this again, it would be best if they were taken care of the way my people would handle it."

Alasdair lowered his empty little cup of tea to the table and was just preparing to reach for the pot to fill it when Khimara made his request.

The fox's paw stopped in mid-reach, completely still.  His expression was blank, an excellent poker face, but the vulpine's ears gave him away just a little bit as they drooped off to the side briefly. 

Alasdair almost chuckled, Khimara is quite crafty, I had not expected such a request, well played.  Still this complicates things for me just a little.

Folding his hands in front of him, the fox regarded his menu for a few moments before slowly building up his conversation, "that is an interesting request, so I am to liquidate Vito Augello, made man and soldier of the Bonavese mafia.  There are a few things you should know before we commit to this course.  The Bonavese family are traditionalist Sicilian mafioso, not the typical American Mafia.  They follow the old rules.  When you are 'made' a man in the Sicilian mafia, you become a literal part of the family.  To kill a made man, you need to be one as well and obtain the permission of the commission or the family, otherwise your life is forfeit.  If I kill Vito, then I will be marked and so will you.  Plus I only brought what I carry for my day job.  I know the route you will take back and there is only one place they can ambush you without drawing a lot of attention, the alley between the construction zone and the old apartment building that is being renovated.  With a nice M40, I could end it quickly, but that will cause some problems with vendettas from the family."

Alasdair poured himself another cup of tea and ran the options through his head, "the only sure way out of this is to kill him in self defense with the capo's thugs as witness.  If he gets killed while breaking the capo's orders, then you could probably work a deal with the family, and bygones will be bygones.  However, for it to be self-defense, then Vito will have to shoot first which will make it very dicey for me."  Smiling like a crafty fox and in a half-serious tone, he adds his last comment on the matter, "I've only spoken with you for less than an hour and you are already trying to get me killed."

Waving over the waiter, Alasdair gives the feline a sideways glance, "I hope you do not mind fish tonight, I find that I am craving it at the moment."

Speaking again in mandarin, he orders what sounds like the same dish for both of them.  The waiter nods and heads off to the kitchen.

"I also added a healthy amount of vegetables.  Back to business though, I am open to suggestions on how you would like this to go down though.  We could just avoid it, but then he is likely to just roll by your current residence and perform the deed old mob style with a submachine gun."   

Alasdair's well-hidden surprise didn't quite slip past Khimara, but his smirk stayed the same. It left when the fox started to tell him about the Sicilian mafia and the plans they'd likely made for him. He was also a little wary when Alasdair revealed the attention he'd paid to the cat's eating habits. The last statement, though, was the one he really cared about. What should they do about this? The god news was that the place they were most likely to find him was dark and had plenty of spots for him to hide. That meant that it would be very easy for him to find a spot where he could could transform unnoticed...

"I am in the mood for fish tonight, thank you," he affirmed. "And if it's necessary, there are ways I could help without these people ever finding out about my skills. Assuming they're carrying guns, I could stop them from firing, distract them. They'd never know it was me if the place is secluded enough, and it could keep them busy just long enough. On the other hand, that's still very risky and there's a good chance of injury for both of us. I didn't bring any weapons because I've never needed them, so that rules out matching their firepower," he thought out loud. "By the way, is it safe to assume that since you know my father, my business endeavour, and my eating habits, that you also know why I don't need weaponry? It would help me to know that you understand why I need to be careful about this."

Alasdair raised an eyebrow at the question, "no, I really do not.  Your father was a regular business type, nothing particularly unusual or paranormal.  I have heard some odd stories about your grandfather, but they are nothing that can be substantiated.  I supposed you can keep one secret at least."

The fox sipped his steaming tea, "I have a way to handle this situation, direct and upfront.  I can fool their perceptions to make them believe I am you.  It will not work for sight,  so the dark alley is rather advantageous.  I can confront them alone and without you having to expose yourself.  That can wait till after dinner though."

A fine meal of braised fish, numerous vegetables and steamed rice arrived on cue.  It is tasty and very elegant if not seemingly very simple.   

Khimara was half-relieved to know that his abilities were still safely unknown in the underground as well as the law-abiding world. He wasn't too surprised that stories about his grandpa were still around, but the details were apparently vague enough that no-one in his family needed to worry.

The one thing that he had concern over was the details of what Alasdair planned on doing. "That sounds...almost too safe to be real. Is there some sort of catch I should know about, or something I'd have to d..."

He trailed off when the smell of fish hit his nose. The vegetables and rice were a welcome sight, but as a carnivore who denied himself meat, the fish was the most alluring part of the meal. He was able to keep his self control as he took a medium-sized portion of each part of the dish, and he continued to listen to the fox as he ate. But his taste buds, not needing to pay any attention to this, savored every moment of the dinner.

Alasdair smiled lightly as the arrival of the food managed to slightly derail Khimara's line of conversation, he got the gist of the question though.  The fox did not answer immediately, instead he busied himself with portioning out the meal for himself.  He dished up a medium portion, just as Khimara had done, though he took more rice.

The fox took a few bites before continuing, "you will have to wear a paper charm that I have prepared for the duration of this little encounter.  You will also need to stay within about 50 meters without being seen.  This Vito chap is arrogant and likes to gloat, that means he will want to do his act up close.   So if I can keep in the shadows, my little trick will hold out long enough for me to get close."

Alasdair paused, lifting his cup and taking in the aromatic steam of the jasmine tea.  He allowed a few moments to pass as he ate and drank before finishing up the conversation, "I plan on taking him out with his own gun.  Something I can do quite easily and you will see why when the time comes... well, you might not see it."

Satisfied with his explanation, the fox spent the rest of the meal in silence, finishing off his fish, vegetables and rice.  He took another small portion, finished it and waited for the feline to do the same or add any additional questions. 

Khimara enjoyed his food a bit slower than Alasdair. If there was some sort of mistake, and this ended up being his last meal, he was going to enjoy every last bite as thoroughly as possible. Even so, he listened carefully.

It turned out that things might not be as bad as he thought. Stay hidden and wear a charm? As long as the place is as secluded and shadowy as he says... He smiled as he bit into more of the fish and rice. If this went well, he'd live to taste this fish again... not that it would have been a bad last meal.

"Despite your being a little vague on the details, I think this should work out just fine. Staying hidden and within range will be no problem for me." He finished his dinner, still taking his time to enjoy it, but not so much as to annoy. Once he finished eating, he set his utensils aside and waited for Alasdair to tell him the next move.

Alasdair signaled to their waiter who hurried over immediately, "<thank you, the dinner was wonderful.  We would like the check, there is some business to attend to and it is best that we get started.>"

"<Certainly, before that, would you care for some dessert?>"  The waiter asked as the several others quickly bussed the table.

The fox shook his head, "<no, I do not think we have the time.  We have an appointment and it would be rude to keep them waiting.>"

Nodding, the waiter produced a check.  Alasdair scooped it up, made a quick review, and handed it back with a credit card.

As their waiter left to settle the bill, Alasdair smiled briefly and sighed contently, "that was very <good> food.  Back to the business at hand though.  Once we leave here, we will cross the street and head for the entrance to the alley I shall place this,"  He held a thin strip of paper with Chinese characters drawn upon it, "somewhere on your person.  It is important that this not fall off and it must remain visible to the moon and the stars.  If it does fall off, only I can place it back, or it will not work."

The waiter eventually returned with his card and a few more pieces that he needed signed.  With the account settled, he gestured for Khimara to follow as he exited.  Alasdair carefully crossed the street and waited patiently near the start of the alley with a small strip of paper in his hand.   

Khimara started to pull out his own wallet, but apparently, the one who was going to risk his neck for the sake of trust was the one who paid for the food. He nodded in agreement about the quality of the food, and gave the waiter a pleasant smile to show his thanks. Then Alasdair stood and motioned for the cat to follow.

Khimara was in a simultaneous state of anticipation and hesitation for about two seconds. Then the hesitation faded, and he followed the fox out the door, sticking to the shadows while managing to look inconspicuous. It was late, so there wasn't really anyone to see them, but after finding out that the mob was already after him when he'd only just set up shop, he'd decided there was no such thing as being too careful. In a few minutes, he was near the alley and ready.

Alasdair nodded as Khimara approached and when the feline reached his side, he held up the paper charm.  He rotated it all the way around and pushed back his sleeves to show that he did not hide anything. 

The cool night wind blew the paper talisman as Alasdair concentrated, holding it by the very tip with his middle and index fingers.  The vulpine chanted words that sounded very similar to those spoken in the restaurant.  His chanting stopped abruptly and the paper, which had been at the mercy of the wind, stood rigid and straight, no longer swayed by the wind.

Alasdair had a brief bout of mischief as he considered placing the charm right between Khimara's eyes, but shrugged off such whimsy and placed it on the feline's chest on the left, above the heart.

"don't lose it now."  The fox taunted before bringing his index finger to his mouth for a brief moment before forming a V with them and pointing to his eyes.  He then gestured all around the dark alley, "be sneaky and if you intend to follow close and keep to the left."

Alasdair then hunched up his trenchcoat, folding up the collar and doing his best to keep his tail down and out of sight from the front.  He whispered a single word in Chinese and a thick lavender odor permeated the area for a moment, deepening the shadows and thickening the air distorting things slightly at distance. 

Khimara also found his own senses somewhat confused as he felt his own presence detached from himself and placed away from him.  It was briefly disorienting, making the feline a bit dizzy.

Taking on a relatively good approximation of Khimara's gait and pattern of footfalls, he strode forward, seemingly unaware of the shapes the lurked ahead.

Khimara frowned a bit at the joking tone Alasdair had, but he had no right to impose the slight queasiness he was feeling on him. It was just that Gray was the one risking his neck, and he was perfectly calm, while the feline was going to be relatively safe and felt like he was going to get shot. He smelled the lavender scent, and as it hit his nose, he felt...odd. Like he was having an out-of-body experience while still in his own body. The feeling faded, but the fox was a good few feet away by the time Khimara felt normal again.

Behind him, to the left, and out of sight, hm? I have just the thing...

Spreading his arms a bit, Khimara braced himself and concentrated. He flinched, not making any sound but gritting his teeth in order to stay quiet. It was never something one could get used to - feeling bones shift around and organs resize, becoming something totall different while still genetically being yourself. He felt his arms shorten and his fingers spread and elongate, fur covered up with feathers, his body shrinking and his face reshaping itself from a muzzle to a beak. The paper charm and clothes faded - he'd learned how to meld clothes into his body to hide easier long ago. It was a quick process to change into smaller creatures, but it was just as painful as changing into the big ones.

At last, he felt his shades melt into his skin and feet finish stretching and losing fur. To anyone else, it would look like the only one following "Khimara" was a pigeon, looking for crumbs.

Shaun ambled down the street, it was a short walk, but he found a hotel.

"Hollyday Inn.....Clever."  More than a little intoxicated from the bottle of whisky he stumbled into the lobby in a lound and showy way. Making his way up to the desk he eyed up the hostess. "Hi There, Lov'ly lady, Oi needa room."

She handed him a key, told him the rate and waved him on his way

"Bit rude no?" He chuckled to himself

Walking slowly, the fox slipped on a pair of gloves, appearing to be donning them against the cold.  He continued forward.

Ominous silhouettes loomed in the shadows, three in all, and expertly maneuvering to surround the fox in cat's guise.  Two at his back an one in front.  An experienced sort in up-front and personal techniques of assassination would know the two in the back were only there to keep the target from running.   

Alasdair walked on, seemingly unaware of those that moved against him.  The fox was either inept or an amazing actor, but it was obvious to Khimara as he knew there were going to be people out here and his attentive gaze had caught sight of them quickly.

A grinning human male in his early thirties stepped from the shadows, blocking "Khimara's" path.  This gave the substitute pause, causing him to take a slight step back, conveniently keeping himself in the shadows of the alleyway.  The other two figures, toughs by the look of them made their presences known.

The man in front spoke in a heavily accented voice, "you have trespassed in the wrong business.  I, Vito Augello, own this racket, consider this a hostile takeover."  His threatening words were accented by the silenced Beretta in his left hand.

If Khimara had expected some sudden action or obvious counter, he would find himself very surprised as the muffled repeat of Vito's 90-Two was the answer to the situation.  Everything seemed to be moving slowly, the bullet seemingly passing right through the middle of feline's stand-in.

The grin on Vito's face melted away as his dead on shot produced no blood, nor seemed to leave a hole in the attire of the fox before him.  "what the..."  Vito exclaimed, unsure of whether he should be more surprised he missed a dead on shot, or that the cat had suddenly become a fox.

Despite Vito's doubts, from Khimara's angle, there was no way a professional hitman like Vito could miss at that range.

The mafioso prepared to unload another round into this imposter, but his his repeated pumping of the trigger produced nothing.  Stealing a quick look at his gun, the man's jaw nearly struck the concrete at his feet.  His safety was on, the safety all the way near the end of the slide at the side-rear of his gun.

It was at that point that recognition dawned on his mind, "shit, Gray..."

Perhaps as a show for Khimara, Alasdair made a deliberate, slower maneuver.  He brought his right hand up to the barrel as his left came up underneath the man's grip on the handle.  In one swift move he had popped the gun up a bit and spun it around so the barrel now faced its former owner.  His other hand braced the gun and clicked off the safety.

Without a word, and before Vito could drop his hands or attempt to dissuade Alasdair from his intended action, the fox pulled the trigger sending a .40 slug right between the assassin's eyes.

The toughs began to reach for weapons, probably MP5Ks, but the largest of them found Vito's 90-Two under his chin, the hot metal burning as it was jammed into the skin.

"Vito acted without consent of the Don and on the edge of Triad territory.  He fired first, what I did was self-defense.  Now I have no desire to go against the Bonavese, so I ask you report what you saw to the Don and give my respects and apologies for this altercation."  Alasdair kept a level, confident voice.

The large man thought for a few moments and waved off the other thug, "alright, we'll pass the word along."  Both disappeared down the alley.

Alasdair tossed the Beretta on Vito's corpse and continued walking, signaling Khimara from where ever he may be to join him.

The pigeon had watched, out of its beady orange black-encircled eyes, the entire scene. No-one had glanced its way. It had been able to watch, its face showing only wide-eyed bird curiosity. But the brain within was spinning. So he could trust Alasdair with his proposition...and even with his life when necessary. The fox was going to be a very useful asset as long as the feline played his cards right...

The pigeon stopped walking as Alasdair moved ahead, and the shadows hid a great deal of painful, but fluid movements. Soon, Khimara walked up to the fox, looking a bit sweaty and tired but duly impressed.

"Well, I have to say you surpassed my expectations, Mr. Gray," he admitted, adjusting his shades and smiling. "I think I can safely trust you with whatever help you offer."

"Thank you Mr. Transphermi, but do not misunderstand me when I say this.  I am not an assassin, and I did not enjoy that little show back there.  I would ask that you refrain from asking for this type of service unless it is absolutely necessary.  Not all things that have value to you should be judged by their willingness to kill at your command."  The fox stopped and turned to face the feline, "a free bit of advise, do not trust those that enjoy that line of work or whom believe themselves artists of the craft."

He continued to walk to the end of the alley where he stopped and waited for Khimara to catch up, "this is where we should part company.  You have my card if you need to contact me.  Good luck in your endeavors."

Khimara refrained from smirking at the fox's explanation, and offered him a serious nod instead. He was right, of course, and the feline had no intention of abusing Alasdair's services. And he himself didn't enjoy kiling, nor did he expect his assassins to.

When he caught up with Alasdair, he wshed the fox good luck as well and headed off towards his apartment. It was already later than he'd intended to be out, and he had to prepare for the trials of the other "cleaners."

Alasdair continued down the street a distance before reaching a parked car.  The fox deactivated the alarm, opened the door and slid into the comfortable seats.  He slipped his poofy tail into the slot provided and sighed, Japanese cars were just not made for American foxes and the GTR was no exception.

Alasdair sat there for a few quite moments, staring at the palm of his right hand.  Frowning he clenched it into a fist, and with one fluid motion turned on the engine and shifted gears.  Pulling out into the deserted street, he made a quick left at the intersection and headed towards his house in the suburbs.  He was going to need a fair amount of extra meditation tonight.

((OOC: Mods, please understand I've been planning to post in this for a while.))

THREE DAYS LATER:

Khimara hung up the phone in his office at the cleaning building and looked at his legal pad again. He made a few scribbles and notes here and there, and thought carefully, but once he was finished, he nodded. Some of these seemed a bit out-of-place, the matches to killer and victim, but given the requirements some of his potential hires had given him and what he knew of each one otherwise, this was the best way for it to work. Now, just to make sure that the hitmen didn't object. Of course, given that offers like the one he had didn't pop up every day - steady work and pay in a usually sporadic business - there should be little to argue about, but when it came to assassins, beggars sometimes were choosers.

He glanced at the clock, then at the door. Shade was scheduled to receive his assignment today, and he was half-hoping to notice when he walked in this time.

The evening that Shade was supposed to go meet with Khimara found Shade sitting at his desk in his apartment, looking over the notes he had taken during his information gathering on Khimara.  The only thing of real importance to Shade was his father.  Little notes were scribbled on the papers, reminding Shade to check up on his contacts and fences to see if they worked for Khimara's father.  Few probably would, but you never know how much influence these types would have.  Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he put the notes away in a drawer, and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.  It was time to go to work.

Shade found that he had time to make a few stops on his way to the cleaning service.  The city is such an untrusting place, but even so, people tend to be stupid.  Windows are often left unlocked, roof access doors without even so much as a light, leaving entire buildings ripe for the picking.  Shade chose a building a few blocks away, which turned out to be an upscale condo apartments building.  He scoped out the building for a few moments and found his prime target, an open window, and no security system control panel in sight.  He snuck in, and as he had hoped, the owners of the apartment had no security, and they were out for the night.  It was a simple task to swipe a jewelry box here, and some silverware there.  Shade's fences were pleased.

With some pocket money to work with, Shade made his way to the cleaning building's roof.  Once again, one of the windows was left open, but not the one to Khimara's office.  That one was locked down tight.  He would have to go in the door.

The door to Khimara's office opened, only ever so slowly, and just enough for Shade to move into the room and quietly close the door behind him.  Had he been seen?  Was Khimara paying attention?  Shade wasn't trying to show off.  It was habit.

Shaun lay in the hammock below deck, the radient light from the black and white T.V. flickered over his face. Somewhere the boat creaked as the water shifted its pressure across the hull. A disjointed snore escaped his open mouth, getting trapped in the throat just for a moment. Damn waiting for the Boss to contact him was boring.

Khimara noticed this time when Shade walked in, but by the silence of the cat's movements he guessed that it was more second nature to him than showing off. He'd only tried so hard to notice to stop himself from slipping into dangerous boredom, really.

"Ah, good, you came back," he said, standing evenly and picking up a file folder from his desk. "I have your first assignment. The pay's decent, which I hope is all that matters. And if it's not..." He opened the file folder and flashed mild disgust across his face for a moment. "...For the record, I'd pay you extra to get this parasite out of society." He handed the folder over the desk to Shade. While flicking it across casually between his claws would have looked much cooler, it also would have resulted in the notes spilling all over the desk. There wasn't much; just a brief history of convictions, arrests, and the notes he'd taken during his conversation with the client. But he liked to keep things organized.

Shade snatched the folder once it was tossed to him and flipped it open, in what seemed to be a single fluid motion.  He had to flick his sunglasses up on his brow so that he could see the information on the papers, and the picture of his intended target.  As soon as the sunglasses went up, what little light in the room immediately started reflecting off his eyes, giving him an eerie, almost ghost-like appearance.
"Burtrum Ford.  I know of this guy.  One of the local drug peddlers.  One time he had the gall to try walking my street, peddling his shit.  A shame he went home broke that night.  Never came back.  I've been wondering who'd get to knock this guy off." He says.
His eyes shift up towards Khimara as he tosses the folder back to him.
"What's the pay?  Any time limit?  Any other restrictions or conditions?  Should he be found dead, or should he just 'mysteriously disappear'?" He asks.

Khimara picked up his legal pad and flipped back a few pages before shaking his head at Shade. "Practically no details on what to do. His wife put out the hit, so my guess is she's not too picky about how it's done."

He set the pad back down and pushed his own sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Of course, that doesn't mean I have the same attitude. It shouldn't be too hard to keep the police from noticing anything - hell, they'll probably be glad for the assist. Other than that, just handle it carefully. I'll be monitoring you, but I assure you it would be foolhardy to try to find me. When you're done, come back the next day and I'll tell you if you're right for this organization. You'll be paid upon completion of the job. I don't know exactly how much it is, but she has promised that she'll pay as much as she needs to." He didn't say it aloud, but there were ways to cover her funds if she couldn't pay enough. All he had to do was make a quick call if that was the case.

Shade nodded, though in this light it was barely discernable.  He flipped his sunglasses down, making his eyes disappear into the blackness of the rest of his body.
"I have a good idea of where he is.  This won't be difficult." He says.
With that, he opens the door just enough for him to slip through, and closes it quietly behind him.

Shade made his way back to the roof of the cleaner's building and started making his way over to where he figured he would find Burtrum: the bad part of town.  He stuck to the roofs and shadows, staying invisible.  He hoped that he would find Burtrum on the streets, but Shade was never one to get his hopes up too high.

His searching would prove fruitless that night, for Rummy was in his apartment in the buisness area of town. sleeping on his white leather couch, the one Janace just HAD to have, smelling of cheap beer as the soccar game plaied on his big screen.
Janace was out drinking and picking up men.

Khimara watched Shade leave, and smiled. Being unable to pick up Shade's footsteps even with his sensitive hearing, he opted to wait until he knew it was safe to transform. After about ten minutes, when he was positive he was alone, he stood up and walked out of his office, locking the door and going to one of the unlocked windows on the upper floor. It was near the back, so no-one would see him, but he still had to move quickly.

He winced. Shapeshifting didn't have to be slow; it was just a matter of preference, like the difference between people who rip bandages off and the people who peel them off very slowly. In this case, unfortunately, he had to be fast. Gritting his teeth and clenching his coat in his hands, he allowed the process to be fast. Bones wrenched into new shapes, organs shrunk as if they were on a high-speed camera, his skin and coat melded as his fingers stretched rapidly, and his face twisted from a mask of agony into a wrinkled, folded, fanged apparition.

Although it was an uncommon sight in urban areas, almost no-one thought anything unusual about the bat flying through the night skies, not knowing or caring that it had a very specific destination in mind.

Shade spent a short while hopping roofs and checking the streets and alleys in the bad part of town.  Burtrum wasn't on the streets.  It wasn't often that Shade was wrong about the location of a target, but it happened on occasion.  The file had listed Burtrum's current address, an apartment in the business district.  Not a bad part of town to live in, unless you're a thief.  The law tends to hang around the business district, in Shade's experience.  But his abilities kept him safe from detection, though there have been some close calls in the past.

Shade made it to the roof of the apartment building where Burtrum lives.  With luck, Burtrum's apartment was right near a fire escape.  Pretty convenient for Burtrum to make a quick escape in case the law gets wind of his location.  Also convenient for one about to perform a little breaking and entering... and an assassination.  Shade peered through the window.  The lights were dim, the tv was on, and Burtrum's lazy carcass was passed out on the couch.

The setup couldn't have been any more perfect.  Shade began the process of quietly prying the window open.

The window was a ad tougher to lift than a normal window, and as soon as the fire alarm sounded he knew why. It wasn't in the description, Janace had thought he be in low side when the hit took place.
Rummy shot up like lightning, with a thunderous yalp to match. He looked around to the kitchen, bedrooms, and door, no fire. He made for the escape, the sprinklers went on just as their eyes met. "Shit." was all he said before barreling for the door. coffee table, couch, DVD rack all failed to slow his girth.

Shade cursed as he finally got the window open.  He had been seen!  Burtrum had to die.  Shade made it through the window quickly and burst ahead.  Being in far better shape than Burtrum, Shade was on top of him before he hit the door.

Rummy shoved his hand into his pocket. "GETOFF!"
Movement started in the hall way. Sirens sounded deep in the distance. "You don't wanna do this man! I could pay you more than-" A syringe full of heroine shot out like a lightning bolt twards Shade's chest.

Shade expected the syringe, but actually much sooner, and for Burtrum to use it on himself.  No matter.  The moment he caught the glint of the syringe, Shade's hand gripped Burtrum's wrist and sent the syringe plunging harmlessly into the wall.  He then quickly went for the dagger with that same hand, to drive it up towards Burtrum's neck.

Lucky for Rummy he always ducked slightly as he kneed someone in the balls. His knee shot up in the general area of Shade's pelvis as the knife gave him an early hair cut.

Shade said something quite unpleasant about Burtrum's weight, sexuality, and birthright at the unexpected attack on his privates.  But he kept pressing the attack, though he would be quite sore in the morning.  He kept stabbing, trying to catch Burtrum anywhere that would wound him, his side, his leg, anything.

The knife caught him in his side as he managed to open the door.  Rummy tumbled into the hall with a sickening wet thud.
The wound was leaking well enough to make puddles, but if he were to seek medical aid in time it would not be fatal.
The scragglers  who were just now leaving started screaming, the sirens drew closer and Rummy was crawling for his life.

Shade was immediately on top of him as Burtrum tried to crawl away, with his knife at his jugular.
"This has gone on long enough Burtrum, time for you to rest." Shade said.
He then made his move for the fatal cut.

Rummy was dead before Shade was finnished cutting. Onlookers stood around as they forgot about the presumed fire and focused on the murder occuring right infront of them. One lady was on her cell calling the cops and the rest had gotten a good look.

Shade bolted.  The first ajar door got broken off it's hinges as he burst through it, tore open the nearest window, and made his way up to the roof.  As soon as he was up on the roof, he was on the move, jumping from roof to roof until he was out of range of the sirens, cursing the whole way.  But at least Burtrum would be found, but without a name to put to his face, he could easily evade the authorities, for a time.

Shade cursed to himself as he disappeared into the night.  This was going to happen eventually, someone would screw up his procedures, and his face would get plastered on wanted posters and the like.  He would have to get a mask.

Amid all the chaos of sirens, rubberneckers, and screaming neighbors, the bat was forced to flap away from its hanging position on the eaves of a window on the other side of the building, fly screeching into the night - and ponder the success of the kill.

In the most basic sense possible, it was successful. The target had ended up dead. But it had been messy. The drunk, drug-addicted slob had proven himself to be much more physically capable under pressure than anyone could have thought of him. Then again, Khimara thought with a twinge of smugness and love for his job, that's the case with most people, old or young, big or small, healthy or sick. There was something refreshing about seeing just how much someone appreciated their life when they knew they were going to lose it.

But he was digressing. Shade had handled himself as well as possible for the situation, but he'd have to plan more carefully next time. Additionally, Khimara himself should probably request a bit more information from his clients, just to make sure this sort of thing didn't happen again...

((OOC note: *long sigh* I know, I know. I haven't been very active, and I didn't post when I promised. It's been weird for me lately, particularly in the creative department. But I really like this RP, and it's my first one, and I don't really want it to die. So if people are still interested in posting, this'll be here. I also hope that because the IC thread has been reasonably active, I don't get in trouble for this.))

THE NEXT DAY:

God, my arms and back hurt. It feels like it took months to fly home last night! Khimara rubbed his shoulders all the way to the building the next morning. It was fun having wings when you were in the form of an animal who actually used them, but the aftereffects always sucked. 'Don't let your arms get tired.' Har-de-freaking-har.

He finally made it in, slumped in his chair, slipped some ibuprofen out of his pocket and dry-swallowed it. Even if today was the kind of day that made one want to stay in bed, he needed to give Shade the results of his "test run" last night, and he needed to look respectable.